


of mercury.

by Vivian



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Child Abuse, Daddy Issues, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hurt with a tiny bit of comfort, M/M, Mentions of Superman, Non-Linear Narrative, Sin sin and more sin, Underage Rape/Non-con, Unhealthy Relationships, everyone is terrible, included movie dialogue, poetic prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 22:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9462074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivian/pseuds/Vivian
Summary: Lex meets Bruce Wayne the first time when he is twelve. His father takes him to a business meeting, and there he is. Young Master Wayne, heir to the Wayne fortune, and CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Amongst the greying vultures, Bruce sits straight, dark brows knit over plutonic eyes. Between those birds of prey, he is something more.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this since September last year and finally got to finish it.  
> Biggest thanks goes to my [darling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelas) who both supports me with her wise betaing _and_ swims with me in the abyss of this sin. Further thanks goes to [Alex](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen/pseuds/cracktheglasses) for also looking over it. <3

i.

 

The son of Krypton comes to them, descending from the rupturing skies. Fire rains onto Metropolis. Where he fights, buildings crumble, and ash coats what remnants lay scattered in the streets, stone and steel and _flesh_.

He’s the harbinger of a new world. It is not man that paves the way into the future. It is this, creature of another world, a monstrosity, a _god._

And in his clenched fist he holds a power unmatched, unchallenged, unquestioned. Humankind gazes at him and calls him the Superman. Savior. Messiah.

It is an ancient thing: to pray to power. Humankind submits and lays its fate into the Superman’s hands. It builds him monuments, temples of a new age. It prays to him in its blackest moments. The Superman becomes a beacon of hope, a red light slicing through darkness, with eyes of fire and the face of divinity.

And it is with desperation that humankind wants to believe: power can be innocent.

Lex Luthor does not believe. Lex knows.

It is only a matter of time before the Superman turns against humanity.

 

Lex follows the Superman’s every step. Every life he saves, every move he makes, how he comes to  those in need. Lex watches it all. Superman, set into the sky, bright like morning light, the dark of his hair, the blues of his suit, the red of his cape, swaying behind him like moving marble. A silence lays around him, wordless, untouchable _pietà_.

And yet.

There is a part of Superman, somewhere, hidden away from the world. A life he lives among this race inferior to him. A life, and a _secret_. It has the name of Lois Lane. Bright little thing. Light of his life, fire of his loins. It leads Lex right to him. To Clark Joseph Kent. Journalist at the Daily Planet. Cordial, upstanding Clark Kent writing about football, politics, and Gotham’s ever-swelling wave of crime.

His name on the tip of Lex’s tongue. The knowledge wedged between liver and his heart. Unspeakable, unspeakable. In the pale of dawn, when hysteria screeches along his skull. In the blinding light of day, and the choking greys of approaching night. And he knows it, the thrice-swallowed spawn of silence. But Lex is not a child anymore.

This world is his and god is dead.

  


ii.

 

Lex meets Bruce Wayne the first time when he is twelve. His father takes him to a business meeting, and there he is. Young Master Wayne, heir to the Wayne fortune, and CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Amongst the greying vultures, Bruce sits straight, dark brows knit over plutonic eyes. Between those birds of prey, he is something more.  Insidious, _nocturnal_. His pale hands lie folded on the table. Strong. Capable. Lex stares at them from where he sits on the extra cushion of his chair. They are more delicate than his father’s hands. Beautiful.

Bruce catches him staring. A shiver runs down Lex’s back. Bruce’s eyes hold no warmth.

 

Lex lies awake at night in his father’s house.

He knows all sounds, each creak, each step, each door slammed shut.

His father’s approaching stride. The beating of his own heart.

Lex lies motionless. Listening, listening.

The door opens. His father comes inside. He turns the key from the inside.

It is too dark to see, but Lex smells him, his scent of cedarwood and bergamot. Then the touch of hands. Weight on his bed, and Lex goes limp. And Lex thinks of Bruce Wayne.

 

He does not see Bruce again for a year. But even with the ocean between Metropolis and Gotham, Bruce Wayne is never far. Lex collects newspaper articles. Bruce Wayne, being seen with yet another married woman, an actress, a dancer, a doctor. The list goes on. Wayne Enterprises, charity work for the orphans of Gotham. Bruce in a dark grey suit, standing with a group of children. Bruce’s hand gently on the shoulder of a little girl. Lex cuts out the photographs. Black and white, and Lex grazes Bruce’s face, drags his fingers over his eyes, his mouth, his hands.

Afterwards, Lex sucks the ink from his fingertips.

Lex dreams of him. Of Bruce’s hand placed on his shoulder. On his head. Tenderly.

 

He sees Bruce the next time at a party hosted at his father’s house. It is a stroke before midnight, and the rooms are filled with smoke and laughter. Perfume, candle-scent, the hum of violas. Men in smokings and ladies in evening dresses like dancing devils. And among them, he. Like nighttide, shadows made into man. Bruce Wayne, pale, observing, dark-eyed. Lex watches him from the top of the stairs. How he moves. The way he talks. Always sharp. His simpers are charade. And Lex feels like no-one can truly see Bruce for what he is. Just like no-one can see Lex’s father for what he is. But Lex can. And Lex does.

He ducks into the twilight of the left side of the stairs. Slowly, he moves down. Then he slips into the crowd. There are looks and words directed his way, and Lex nods and smiles, retorts, until he makes his way to Bruce. He catches Bruce’s eye. The smile wilts from Lex’s face.

He comes closer, and steals a touch.

His fingers graze against Bruce’s fingers. Then his father calls his name.

Lex looks up. He knows what’s coming. His heart pounds against his chest. He lets himself be hushed into the bedroom. He does not dare look into his father’s eyes, Lex only sees his father’s hand, tense, on the door before he closes it behind him. The light fades. The key turns.

Lex is alone in the dark. Midnight.

Lex listens to the house, the old clock in his room, the guests’ muffled voices.

And he wonders how it’d be like. To be loved by Bruce the way his father doesn’t.

And exactly how his father does.

 

iii.

 

Dawn is an hour away. Lex is twenty-nine and stands naked in his father’s room. He hasn’t changed a thing. Thirteen years. _Tempus fugit_. Lex allows himself a smile. His heart beats heavy. A drop of sweat slides down his back. His fingers drag along the edge of the desk as he walks around it. The papers still there, letters fading, bourbon stain on the right lower corner. Lex makes a soft noise, trailing his finger along the bourbon-seeped imprint of the glass. Then he turns around. All his father’s books. Old, leather bound, piled on the floor, stacked on the chimney breast, cluttering the shelves. Their smell is in the air. Of old days. Long past. Lex breathes out through his nose, bites his lip, licks it. If only _he_ could see. If only Lex could show him. This last footprint in the sand and the titanic ocean that is Lex’s tech empire. Nothing left of Daddy’s petrol and machinery.

And something more. Lex’s gaze wanders to the bed, where the sheets lie crumpled.

Bruce Wayne slides a hand behind his head, leaning back against the headboard.

“Are you coming?” Bruce asks, eyes dark.

Lex meets his gaze for a moment. Heat surges through him. He bites his lip and smirks.

“ _Yes._ ”

But of course, to show Daddy, he’d have to be alive.

 

Lex has known about the Batman almost from the beginning. It had taken him more than a month to figure it out.

LexCorp is on the steep uprise, and Lex is busy busy busy. Lex just turns twenty when Bruce Wayne returns from his year-long world trip. Lex has kept track of him. Only few of Bruce’s domiciles have slipped through Lex’s net of global intelligence. He has followed Bruce’s path from Kyoto to Paris to the steppes of Mongolia. Lex loses him to the plain of Bhuikhel, but once more picks up Bruce’s tracks nearby Tangier. Such things Bruce learns. There is surveillance footage of Bruce training, CCTV photographs, a vague silhouette, and yet, unquestionably, him. Lex watches the footage again and again. In the murk of night, screen shining in his dark room, his fingers tapping on the side of his laptop. The silhouettes follow Lex into sleep. He dreams of Bruce in grayscale, fever-hot against his back.

Lex meets Bruce at a fundraiser for Gotham’s orphanages, five weeks after his return. The first time since four years ago, at his father’s funeral.

Fresh bruises along Bruce’s neck, his left cheekbone scraped. Lex chuckles when he shakes Bruce’s hand.

Bruce says, “Lex,” and looks at Lex a moment. The lines of Bruce’s face have deepened, his shoulders broadened, but his eyes are still the same. Crepuscular.

Lex swallows. Sudden vertigo sways his step. Bruce’s other hand against his shoulder. Steadying. Lex swallows again, a small noise escaping him.

“How was the trip? How’s your _French_?” Lex asks, innuendo twined in his voice.

Bruce’s eyes glint, but instead of an answer, he smiles and lets go of Lex. Lex plucks a second glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray and passes it to Bruce. Bruce sighs and takes it.

“Have you heard,” Lex says, “A new knight has risen in Gotham.”

Bruce’s face betrays no change.

Lex says, “He tears the night from all its devils.”

Bruce’s smile sharpens just a bit.

With two big gulps Lex finishes his champagne before he gets another glass. He clinks it against Bruce’s.

“Welcome back,” Lex says.

Bruce nods, lips still smiling. Then he turns around and the crowd swallows him.

 

“I could be your father,” Bruce says.

Lex has his arm hooked around Bruce’s and leans against him. It’s been two weeks since they met at the fundraiser. They are at an afterparty of a gala opening and Lex is not quite as drunk as he pretends to be. He laughs, voice uneven.

“Not quite,” Lex says. He moves closer, until his breath ghosts against Bruce’s ear. “Would you want to be?”

“How about you stop pretending,” Bruce drawls. “You don’t get drunk this easily.”

Lex looks up at him. There’s dark red lipstick on  Bruce’s collar. Lex reaches for it. He smudges the tint between thumb and index finger. Bruce catches his wrist. Suddenly they are close. Bruce marches him back against the wall, caging him. They’re in the hallway leading to the main hall. Someone could walk by any time.

Lex’s breath catches. He stares at Bruce. Bruce who is so close Lex can feel the heat of his body. Excitement jolts through Lex’s veins. Lex places his free hand against Bruce’s chest, moves it downward. He cups Bruce’s dick through his trousers.

“Oh, _mhm_ ,” Lex makes. He feels his eyes widen, throat drying up.

“I’m not doing this with you,” Bruce rasps.

“Why is that,” Lex snaps, grip tightening on Bruce’s half hard cock.

Bruce catches his other wrist, too, then he pushes both above Lex’s head.

“I’m almost two decades older,” Bruce says.

“Don’t think that stopped you before.”

“I’ve known you since you were a child.”

“Hah!” Lex tilts his head back, dizzy. He closes his eyes, thought abandoning him, hips canting upwards against Bruce’s. His voice is just the slightest bit hysteric when he says,

“I’ve wanted to suck your dick since I was twe—”

“ _Shut up_.”

Bruce covers Lex’s mouth with his palm.

Then Bruce lets go. He leaves the imprint of his fingers on Lex’s skin. Bruce takes two steps back.

Lex’s pulse hammers in his ears.

“Good night, Lex,” Bruce says.

He leaves.

 

iv.

 

The son of Krypton comes and Lex stands still in his tower. He watches with wonder, with _terror_ , how the man from the sky lies waste to Metropolis. Fire and ash. And the world crumbles. Around him, the bells are ringing. Lex does not move until his security detail drags him to the roof, and into a helicopter. They flee. Lex’s hands are shaking, his eyes wide. He stares, even when the clouds of cinders veil all sight. Lex cannot breathe. He counts to ten. Doesn’t move, does not think, can only feel. His father’s hand on his shoulder, the echo of his voice. His _scent_. Lex chokes on his breath. He does not make a sound. His fingers press the window glass. Buildings collapse, drowning the world in thunder.

 

In the ruins of Metropolis his crew finds a glowing splinter of verdant stone. Kryptonian.

Lex takes it into his labs that hold cells of one of the fallen Kryptonians. When the cells are exposed to the stone, they deteriorate.

Three days sleep evades Lex. Three days Lex descends. Midst the scattered pages of contracts, reports, and his own scribbled notes, Lex sits, and reads and _plans_. He calculates, makes phone calls, writes emails and sets a schedule. 18 months.

His fingers tremble as he wipes the glass table clean, papers cast to the floor, beige-white powder speckled, then smeared as Lex swipes his hand over the surface. He uncaps his marker and in broad strokes draws the Superman’s symbol onto the glass. A huffed breath escapes him, almost a chuckle. His heart beats hard against his chest, so fast, so fast. He stumbles backwards, lips twitching, sucking in air between his teeth. From behind him, he grabs a vase off his bookshelf and throws it at the table. The shattering of glass. Shards send flying, glinting with the reflection of the setting sun.

 _Never again_ , he’d promised himself.

He’s done it before. He can do it again.

And when at last Lex once more ascends, it is with _clarity_.

 

There is only one who can rise against the Superman. His modern Prometheus. A titan among men. The Bat of Gotham.

 

v.

 

The skies are of a dim grey. Every now and then the dribble of rain.

Lex is sixteen and his father lies dead in the ground.

The eulogy is over. Lex is the last to cast a handful of earth onto the coffin. He’s kept a brave face, they whisper behind his back, the poor boy. No tears at the funeral. Most attendants are business associates. Members of the board. Lex knows them all by name. He uses the time to observe them through the curve of his lashes. He receives their condolences and feigned sympathy with clammy handshakes, his gaze to the floor. Already they make the mistake to underestimate him.

At the gate of the cemetery, a couple of journalists take pictures and try to crowd themselves through the unmoving security guards.

One last time, Lex walks to the yet unmade grave. He bends over, peers down. It starts raining again.

In the end, it had been easy. Almost... _disappointing_.

A shiver runs down his back. The inkling of nausea.

Suddenly, a hand on his shoulder. Lex takes a moment before he turns around.

It’s Bruce. He must’ve just arrived.

Without meaning to, Lex leans into the touch.

Bruce says nothing, offers nothing. For a few seconds, Bruce’s hand moves to Lex’s neck, fingers curling there. It thieves Lex of air. He looks up, but Bruce stares straight ahead.

Bruce says,

“Good bye, Lex.”

When Bruce leaves, heat lingers on Lex’s skin where Bruce’s fingers had tarried. Want churns inside. Ugly.

Lex glances at the coffin. He turns around and joins the funeral dinner.

 

vi.

 

Lex does not see much of Bruce Wayne. Not since Wayne Enterprises declined the merger with LexCorp almost a decade ago. That does not mean Lex doesn’t _try_. He invites Bruce to all events only remotely acceptable. And to some that are...less acceptable.

Bruce comes to none. So Lex invites himself to events Bruce does attend. That is, if he is not on the guestlist already.

Lex steals glances and touch. Every now and then, between the numbing chatter, underneath dimmed lights. A slide over fingers over fresh bruises and old scars.

Then Metropolis crumbles. And death pushes Bruce Wayne onto Lex’s doorstep.

A charity event for Metropolis’ new orphans. Lex hosts it at his home. Holds a speech in his father’s old room. Starts with _I am one of you_ and keeps going from there. Stutters at the right time. Bites his lip, turns from the audience, trembling, gaze cast low, then turns back and reaps their sympathy with wetted eyes and and a choked out _Thank you_.

Bruce Wayne stands at the far end of the room. He’s the only one who does not applaud.

Lex thinks, _You will either die or live by my hand_.

After the speech, Lex mingles. People write checks. Mercy gives a helping hand. She glances at him through the crowd. Lex smiles.

It’s an open bar. As the hours pass, the chatter grows louder, laughter is no longer hidden in the curve of palms, and touches are more freely given.

Lex watches. Bruce approaches him from behind, Lex sees it in one of the mirrors. Lex doesn’t turn around. Bruce’s breath at his neck.

“Repulsive,” Bruce says. He smells of  gin and vermouth.

“Oh?” Lex says, playful.

“Not tonight.”

Lex tilts his head, corners of his mouth twitching.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” he says.

Suddenly, Bruce’s hand around his upper arm. Grip like steel. He spins Lex around, slow but forceful.

“Dear me,” Lex says, voice slippery in the onrush of adrenaline. He strokes two fingers over the lapel of Bruce’s suit, then culls it between thumb and index finger. Slowly, he looks up at Bruce. His dark eyes. Lex swallows.

It takes another hour until the last guest has left. Mercy, too, wishes him a hushed good night.

Bruce is still there.

Lex sits on his father’s couch. Silence has fallen, yet the scent of the guests still tints the air.

Lex pours each of them three fingers of whiskey while Bruce folds his suit jacket on the back of the armchair opposite him, and sits down. Carefully, Bruce takes off his shirt cuffs. Onyx and gold. Dior, Lex guesses. Bruce places them on the table between them, then rolls up his sleeves.

They sip the whiskey.  

Quiet reigns for a moment but for the pounding in Lex’s chest.

After a while Lex says softly,

“I remember them bigger.”

He feels his mouth twist into a smile. Bruce raises an eyebrow. Lex nods towards Bruce’s hands, then tilts his head ever slightly.

“Now they are rougher, too. My oh my,” Lex says. His voice cracks at the last syllable.

Bruce stands, comes closer. Intent darkens his gaze. He seizes Lex’s shirt collar and pulls to his feet.

Lex looks at him, swallows, smiles, and says, “Just like my father’s.”

Bruce replies nothing. Bruce’s breath on his lips.

“Kiss me,” Lex says weakly, and hates himself for it.

And Bruce, he hates him for it, too. Lex knows. Maybe that’s why Bruce _does_ kiss Lex, anyway.

 

Between their sweat-soused bodies Lex confesses. Bruce tastes of whiskey and of cigarettes, and Bruce’s perfume brands Lex’s skin and is spread all over the sheets. Lex tells him the sins of his father, mumbled, whispered, _laughed_. He shouldn’t. They both know it. But Lex can’t stop. So he breathes and he speaks. Bruce pushes into him. Lex’s lips against Bruce’s ear, sweat slicked hair sticking to his cheek. A moan falls from Lex’s lips. Bruce puts his hand over Lex’s mouth, they look at each other, and Bruce whispers _he deserved to die_ , and then Lex is coming, hard and messy.

 

Pale morning light.

Lex wakes alone in his father’s bed. The sheets still smell like Bruce.

 

vii.

 

The Superman’s secret yields what Lex needs to destroy him. Two names. The twin-stars in Clark Kent’s sky. Lois and Martha. His lover, and his mother.

Lex spins a tale that is yet to happen. He employs one Anatoli Knyazev to execute the weapons contracts he’s made with a Kenyan warlord. Two threads in his web, dithering in lethal anticipation. The warlord, who, soon enough, is going to grant Lois Lane an exclusive interview. And Anatoli who will be right there to orchestrate the rest of Lex’s deception.

 

And where the Superman’s part ends, Batman’s begins.

It is with a strange and subtle exhilaration that Lex sinks his claws into Bruce Wayne’s heart. Or what Gotham has left of it. It takes so little. A few messages from former employers. An envelop of red-written accusations. _You let your family die_. It only fuels what the destruction of Metropolis has kindled. A fury that blazes black as tar, branding all who cross the bat’s path. It plays beautifully into what Lex sets in motion for Clark Kent.

It is after a particularly nasty letter that Bruce Wayne once more stands before Lex’s door. Unannounced. Bruises in bloom around his wrists and on his neck. It must’ve been a dark night for Gotham’s criminals. And a darker one for Bruce.

Lex lets him in. Bruce steps inside, then stills.

“Well,” Lex says smiling and holds up his palms.

Something flashes in the black of Bruce’s eyes. Something _familiar_.

Suddenly, Lex feels cold. His smile fades.

Bruce steps closer. Lex feels himself frozen in place. His eyes widen.

“What do you want—” he stutters.

“Don’t play _dumb_ ,” Bruce growls.

Bruce is so close, Lex can feel his breath against his lips. Then Bruce seizes a fistful of Lex’s hair, twisting his wrist. Sharp pain. Bruce turns him around, pushing him forward. The acrid taste of fear on Lex’s tongue. Bruce leads him up the stairs, into Lex’s bedroom. There, Bruce throws him onto the bed.

“That’s what you _want_ , isn’t it?” Bruce says, voice rough.

“No—” Lex chokes out.

Then Bruce is on the bed with him. Above him. Weighing him down, pressing the air out of Lex’s lungs. Lex writhes beneath him, trying to shove him off. With one hand Bruce grabs Lex’s wrists, pinning them above his head.

“Shut up,” Bruce says, gripping Lex’s chin, pushing his head to the side and sinking one leg between Lex’s thighs. Arousal jolts through Lex. A choked off breath escapes him. Suddenly, Bruce grips his hips and flips Lex onto his stomach. Once more he seizes Lex’s hair, shoving his head into the pillow. Hot breath near his ear.

“You will take it, Lex. You will _take it_.” Bruce rasps.

Lex can’t move. Can’t speak. Bruce disrobes him quickly. Seams tear, buttons clatter to the floor beside them. Then Bruce pushes two dry fingers into him. Lex keens.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like this,” Bruce says, fingers twisting inside Lex.

Lex doesn’t beg. Just bites his lips bloody as Bruce tugs out his fingers and thrusts his hard, thick cock into Lex, grunting. Tears well at Lex’s lashes. He fists his hands into the sheets.

Bruce pulls out and thrusts in again. Pain rushes through Lex. And within it, blossoming heat. Lex moans. Feels his own cock hardening, pulsing between his stomach and the mattress. Bruce’s hand still in his hair. He jerks Lex’s head to the side.

Lex feels like he’s a child again. Lex whimpers, cock twitching. Lex’s cheeks wet with tears. He’s quivering beneath Bruce. Takes it, takes all of it. Then he starts moving against Bruce.

“Whore,” Bruce hisses into his ear, and fucks him harder. Bruce’s next thrust meets the spot that lets Lex see stars. He clenches around Bruce’s dick. Bruce’s free hand presses bruises into Lex’s hip, his thigh, his ass. Lex sobs.

All of a sudden, Bruce pulls out. A second later ropes of hot fluid over Lex’s ass and back. Just like his father used to. Lex turns his head as much as Bruce allows it, glancing at Bruce through wet lashes and strands of hair. For a moment it’s not Bruce he sees.

Lex closes his eyes.

“Turn around,” Bruce hisses.

Lex obeys. His own cock curves onto his stomach, untouched.

“Jerk yourself off,” Bruce says.

Lex swallows. Gingerly, he slides his hand to his cock. Wraps his fingers around it. Bruce’s come smears between his back and the sheets. Its scent is stark in the air. It shoots hot spikes of arousal through Lex. He moves his fingers over his cock, down, up, down, and then he’s coming. He sobs through his orgasm. When Lex opens his eyes, Bruce is staring at him. Eyes filled with gloaming.

Then Bruce bends down and kisses Lex softly. And it’s that, that hurts the most.

 

It’s the last time Lex sees him for a long while.

 

viii.

 

Torn from the Indian ocean, it lies before him now. The Kryptonite.

Lex gazes at it. Its emerald glow, ancient. Relict of a dead race. The cure. The _key_. And Lex is certain of what must be done. Since the day the skies rived open, leaving this world at the mercy of one without any. He knows it from the marrow of his bones and the red of his heart. Knows it like he knows many things: Comfortless on the heights of ken.

 

ix.

 

As Lex wades through the red fluid, the security overwrite completes.

Lex frees Zod’s corpse from its body bag. And gently, he guides him into the waters. They carry him, light as air. Zod floats before him. This creature of wax. Lex traces his cheek, first with one hand then the other. This creature of his. He murmurs to him. _You flew too close to the sun. Now look at you._ The knife snaps open. Light glints on the blade. Lex closes his hand around it and slices his palm. Pain cuts through him. He lets the blood drip onto Zod’s face. He can barely breathe. Wetness on his cheeks. Blood of his blood. It is what it must be. It is the only thing it can be.

Unholy.

 

The sun rises over Metropolis.

Lex stands on the highest platform of LexCorp Tower. He stares at the aurora bleeding through the clouds. He holds the earth in his hand, right there clasped between his fingers.

It’s the dawn of a new age in which god will either die or bare his sin to the world.

Very soon, the fight will begin. The fall.

Man versus god.

 

x.

 

God is dead.

The funeral bells are ringing. Out in the dark. Among the stars.

 

They take everything. Freeze Lex’s accounts. He’s stripped of his clothes. Dressed in jail orange. They sit him down, bend his head and shave off his hair.

Lex watches as it falls to the floor, wisps of it. His heart hits like a drum.

This is but the beginning.

The bells have been heard. Already there is movement. The empyreans are alight with hunger. Hundredfold, spun from sphere to sphere.

Lex waits for fear.

When it comes, it comes almost as a relief. And with it, ravenous joy.

He hasn’t felt it since he slipped the poison into his father’s bourbon.

In the dark of his cell, he weeps without a sound.

 

When Bruce comes, he does not come as Bruce but as the Bat. In his hand the branding iron. He pushes Lex against the wall. Sizzling next to his cheek.

“Ah,” Lex says softly, gaze sliding from the iron to Bruce’s face. “Look at us.”

Lex tells him this is how it all comes down. But who’d believe him. He’s insane. Not even fit to stand trial. He can’t help himself sputtering a laugh when Batman says they have hospitals for the mentally ill. To be treated with kindness.

“But that’s not where you are going. I’ve arranged for you to get transferred to Arkham Asylum in Gotham.”

Lex’s smirk falls. And yet. That changes nothing.

The bells have been rung. They cannot be unheard. Lex tells it to him.

“Ding dong,” Lex says, “The God is dead.”

The Bat moves back. And pounds the iron into the wall next to Lex’s head. It leaves a mark.

Lex is doused in shock. The Bat moves closer, breath against Lex’s lips.

The Bat says,

“And even after all he did to you, the truth remains, doesn’t it.” The Bat presses Lex harder against the wall. “You still love your father.”

Lex stares at him, eyes wide. His smile is frozen on his face.

The Bat has yet the branding iron grasped in his right. He lets go now. It clatters to the floor. Sparks fly.

Lex is still staring at him. His lips are twitching. He sees the reflection of his eyes in the Bat’s, bright in the cold light.

Then the Bat turns around. And doesn’t look back.

  


**Author's Note:**

> (Is there anyone even still in this fandom/on this ship?)  
> Please let me know what you think! :>
> 
> Also here check out some Lex paintings I did: [x](http://kyluxxury.tumblr.com/tagged/lex-luthor)


End file.
